Miracles Out of Nowhere
by mechachic
Summary: Dean is left devastated when Gadreel makes a run for it with Sam's body. But things become much worse for Sam when Metatron decides he's too much of a liability to keep around. Sold out to his worst enemies, Sam discovers a truth about himself he's not quite ready to handle. The lesson: be careful what you wish for. Post 9x09 Holy Terror
1. New Alliances

A/N and Warnings: This fic is set after the events of season 9 episode 9. It contains spoilers up to that point and then goes off into the craziness that is my head. It will become wildly AU once the season progresses as this story really only works in fanfic. As a heads up, this story contains torture (though not overly graphic) and a pretty big transformation. I don't know what kind of response it will get, but it is super fun to write and a fun concept to explore. I hope you enjoy.

Miracles Out of Nowhere CH 1: New Alliances

Sam had been asleep for a long time. Not all at once but in pieces. Pieces of time he couldn't account for. Pieces of his life that were just gone. Sam wasn't stupid, though. He didn't know about Gadreel. He didn't know he was possessed – although really it was the most logical explanation – but he knew something was wrong. The thing was, he hadn't wanted to question it. Things were finally right with Dean, and Sam was finally happy.

It's amazing at first, how great he felt. He remembered feeling sick as hell after quitting the third trial. He remembered his head throbbing as if it'd been hammered against a cement wall over and over again. He remembered all-consuming exhaustion, lungs incapable of sustaining normal breathing, and months of hacking up blood until his throat and chest were nearly on fire. He remembered the pain too, and that was the worst of it. Worse than Hell pain even, so that when Dean finally got to him and told him completing that last trial would kill him, Sam wasn't surprised in the least. But he didn't complete the trial, and he didn't die. Still, the pain didn't go away. The weariness did not vanish like some hazy dream you just wake up from. It kept on and on until he collapsed. And then…he woke up in his brother's car and everything was fine again.

Perhaps that should have seemed at least somewhat suspicious. In hindsight, Sam was mentally kicking himself. Did he really think his brother shoved him in his car and then drove around forever with him passed out in the front seat? Did he really think he'd go from his death bed…er…car…to 110% just like that? Because if he remembered correctly, the last time he made such a remarkable recovery his dumb brother made a deal with a crossroads demon. God, he should have known something was up!

But it wasn't just the obviousness of the situation that finally struck him. Dean was suspicious as hell. First off, Sam knew he'd heard his brother call him "Zeke" at least a couple of times, and no way did he believe he imagined it no matter the head injury. Besides, what was up with all the head injuries anyway? And the blackouts? And the mysterious way his neck injury just healed itself? Or that whack-a-doodle chef asking him what he was?

Sam wasn't stupid, and it was almost insulting that his own brother seemed to think he was. Like he wouldn't figure it out! And sure, Sam didn't know exactly what it was he'd figured out at first, but he was starting to piece together the truth. He couldn't deny it anymore.

Now if only he could just…wake up.

**-SPN-**

"I've done as you asked," Gadreel said, running a hand through his vessel's long hair and releasing a pent-up sigh.

"Kevin Tran?" Metatron asked as he paced thoughtfully in front of the other angel.

"Dead."

"And the Winchesters?"

"Dean is a threat. I don't need his brother's memories to know how protective he is of Sam," Gadreel explained. He stepped closer to the shorter vessel and eyed him seriously. "And I did steal his brother's body. But it is not Dean that concerns me."

"Explain." Metatron stopped cold and turned to face the other angel. It was weird seeing Gadreel in that body. Weird and oddly delightful. Oh, how they had the Winchesters in their pockets. But something in Gadreel's eyes was making him nervous.

"It's Sam," Gadreel said. "He is asleep. For now. But it is taking much of my effort to keep him under. He is suspicious. He senses me, and if he becomes aware of my presence…"

"He can eject you," Metatron supplied with a casual wave of his hand. The taller angel nodded curtly. Metatron brought his hand gently to his chin in thought, resumed his slow, purposeful pace, and then stopped once again. "Tell me, Gadreel, how attached are you to that vessel?"

Gadreel stared back with wide eyes as he considered the question. Attached? Well, he had been healing Sam for months now. Yes, that had been legitimate. At least at first it was. Plus, he had Sam's memories, could sense his feelings, and knew his deepest thoughts and fears. Sam was a good kid. Troubled but good. But he was also a liability. If Sam ejected Gadreel at the wrong time it could be dire to Metatron's plans, and Metatron was the first angel in centuries to accept him. No, that wouldn't be good at all!

"It has served me well," Gadreel said at last. "But this vessel is tainted. I can feel the demon's blood coursing through these veins and it disgusts me." Gadreel's lip turned up in a discontented snarl as he spoke. It was true after all. If he really thought about it he knew Sam Winchester was unworthy. He was a vessel suited only for Lucifer now. Besides, he hated feeling the young man's soul squirming inside of him, fighting him, threatening him with that pathetic stubbornness so innate to all Winchesters.

"Good," Metatron answered with an evil smirk. "I have been building other alliances, Gadreel. Powerful alliances that may disturb you, but I assure you I have done only what is necessary."

"Demons?" Gadreel asked in shock.

"Only for a time, my loyal follower," Metatron assured. "The Winchesters will stop at nothing, and if I have learned one thing it's that they have a history of getting in the way. Those bumbling nuisances pose a very serious threat if we overestimate them, my friend. But the demons despise them. So, I propose that we distract the Winchesters with the demons and distract the demons with the Winchesters."

Metatron practically danced as he ended his tirade. He was certain of his plan. It was the perfect way to outwit his enemies, and by the time the fools wised up the world would be his on a hot plate.

"What do you have in mind?" Gadreel asked, intrigued.

"What do you know of the demon Abaddon?"

**-SPN-**

Dean watched the flames lick the night sky. He refused to allow his eyes to drop to their source. How many times was he going to have to go through this? His Dad, Bobby, and now Kevin… Kevin deserved a hunter's funeral. That poor kid had given up everything to help him and Sam. He was so young, had so much potential, and now he was dead.

And Dean was to blame…

If only he'd been smarter! If only he hadn't trusted Ezekiel or whoever he really was! Kevin would still be alive and Sam… Well, Sam would have died, wouldn't he? But was it really better to be hijacked by some psycho dick angel? To be betrayed by his brother? To be lied to and possessed? What was it like for Sam now? Did his little brother have any awareness or was he completely gone? Did Sam feel like he was riding a comet? Was he scared?

"Dean?" Castiel interrupted his friend's thoughts. Dean shook his head out of its haze, but did not avert his gaze from the terrible scene before him.

"I'm fine, Cas," he said in a surprisingly steady voice. If Dean showed emotion now he would surely break.

"Dean…"

"I don't want to talk about it, Cas," the hunter warned. "I just want to get my brother back."

Cas stared back with his unreadable blue eyes. Evaluating, always evaluating. Dean didn't need that right now.

"We will get Sam back," Cas told him. "But Dean, it wasn't your fault. Not for Kevin or for Sam. You couldn't have known."

"Whatever."

And Dean was gone, making his way back to the quiet solitude of the Impala.

**-SPN-**

It was times like this Gadreel wished he could still fly. It took forever to get here and he wasn't even sure he was in the right place. He paid the taxi driver and glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand. This was the address Metatron had given him. He could feel Sam scurrying about under his skin and he cringed. The dumb kid finally realized he wasn't alone in his body. Gadreel could feel the click of comprehension. It was only a matter of time now.

Gadreel marched up the pathway with a new sense of purpose. It was dark, but he could feel the eyes on him anyway. Yes, he was in the right place. And she was here! _Classy, _he mused as he took in the broken down factory before him. Most of the windows were shattered and poorly boarded up with rotten planks. The grass was terribly overgrown and littered with weeds. The walls were badly graffitied. A fitting home for demons. He frowned as he felt them surrounding him and threw his hands in the air in surrender.

Two demons dressed in military gear flanked him, weapons drawn and eyes black as the night. They smirked triumphantly at each other. It was all Gadreel could do not to roll his eyes. Did they really think it would be that easy? If he was the real Sam Winchester this would all be an elaborate trap and Big Brother Dean would come barging in with guns ablazing and holy water aflying. But he wasn't the real Sam Winchester, and he was here to negotiate.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and he was shoved harshly into the dusty factory. The stench of sulfur hung stale in the air, making his vessel's lungs sting. There were a lot of demons here!

"Well, look what we have here," a silky voice drawled as a beautiful woman stepped out of the shadows. Her eyes were colder than any Gadreel had seen before and her lips were turned up in a smile that chilled him to his grace. Abaddon. "And to what do we owe the pleasure, Sam?"

Gadreel swallowed hard. He took in a deep breath to steady himself. He couldn't believe Metatron had him working with demons! He couldn't believe he'd agreed to it and now he was surrounded by hundreds of them and at Abaddon's mercy. Well, he might as well finish the job he came to do.

"I am not Sam Winchester," he told the demon with confidence. Her smile seemed only to grow more evil as she chuckled unbelievingly at the tall man before her.

"No? Well, you look an awful lot like him." Her voice was as soft as a whisper, seductive and smooth. "You'll have to forgive me. I wasn't expecting company or I would have tidied up. How terribly rude of me, Sam. But I don't suppose you'll have much time to worry about the housekeeping when I'm ripping the flesh from your bones."

She ran a cold hand across his cheek and he twisted away from her in disdain. Her touch was acid as far as he was concerned.

"I told you I am not Sam Winchester," he repeated. This time he flashed his brilliant blue eyes at her for good measure. It was almost funny to hear her gasp.

"An angel?"

"My name is Gadreel," he said. "Metatron sent me."

She circled him curiously, eyes twinkling with wicked delight.

"He sent you bearing gifts?"

"Yes. Sam Winchester to do with as you wish. His only request is that you put an end to Dean Winchester. He will come for his brother," the angel explained.

"I imagine he will. How perfect," the demon mused to herself.

"Then you accept these terms?"

"I relish in them," she gleamed. "By the time Dean finds his baby brother there will be nothing left of little Sammy. I can promise you that. What better way to destroy him?"

Gadreel felt a chill of regret, but he pushed it away the best he could. Dean had been nice to him, but in the end he'd tried to expel him from Sam's body like yesterday's trash. No, this was good. He wanted this. He wanted what Metatron offered.

"Good," he voiced. "Then let it be done."

Suddenly, the angel's eyes flashed blue again. This time, however, they did not return to Sam's soft hazel. Instead they grew brighter, glowing with a hot intensity until the room was bathed in a blinding white light before disappearing in a sudden burst of searing brilliance. The angel had fled and the 6'4" body of Sam Winchester fell to the floor in an unconscious heap. Abaddon beamed.

"Get him moved and chained. We have a busy day ahead of us, boys."


	2. The Truth About Sammy

Miracles Out of Nowhere CH 2: The Truth About Sammy

Sam woke slowly. His head felt fuzzy like he'd been sleeping for too long and his whole body ached. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. And it really freaking hurt to think! God, he was groggy!

His vision was still swimming as he moaned in agony. Where was Dean? Where was he for that matter? He tried to push himself up, but his arms were restricted. He couldn't move them and damn were they sore! It took him a minute to realize they were cuffed behind his back. Now, that couldn't be good. He moaned again.

He tried to focus, but the real world was just out of his grasp. His face was cold. His cheek was resting against concrete. He forced his eyes open with all the effort he could muster and was affronted with the sight of a woman's footwear.

"How nice of you to join us."

Sam may still be feeling a bit out of it, but he recognized that voice instantly. He couldn't hold back his wince as he twisted his head uncomfortably upward to stare into the menacing face of Abaddon.

"How did I get here?" he asked, sounding every bit as exhausted as he felt.

"Don't you know?" she teased. A high heeled toe weaseled its way under his cheek and twisted his face even more upward. The angle was awkward and very painful. "An angel delivered you to my doorstep."

"What angel?" he asked, but somewhere deep inside he already knew. Things were different now. He'd felt so good when he'd woken up after the trials, and now he felt sick and weak. What had Dean done to him?

"Gadreel." Gadreel. Yes, that sounded right. Gadreel made him sleep. "Seems you were possessed, my dear little Sammy." She was laughing at him. Not outright, but in an undertone he could feel in his bones.

The word echoed in his mind. Possessed. Possessed by Gadreel and he was so so sick. Dean would do anything to save him. It made sense. It made sick and horrible sense.

Now Sam wanted to laugh too because if he didn't he would cry, and if he cried he'd never stop. Dean knew how he felt about possession; that's why he kept it a secret all this time. Sam didn't know if he was furious at his brother or not. He supposed he was, but part of him was just numb too. He was almost too exhausted to register what exactly this meant between him and his brother. The part he couldn't let go of, the part his mind refused to wrap itself around, was that he'd been possessed yet again. Possessed like when Meg was inside of him. Like…Lucifer…. And sometimes blacked out, and not in control of his body. What had Gadreel done in his body?

It didn't matter now, though. It was done. Dean took that choice away from him, always trying to protect his helpless baby brother, and guess what? Trusting some random angel and lying to everyone had backfired! Big surprise there, Dean! Well, at least Sam wasn't the only one who made bad decisions.

"Where's Dean?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that, Sammy," she sneered.

"It's Sam," he spat through clenched teeth. He managed to swing himself upright into a seated position and glared at the hated demon. "And I'm not telling you a damn thing."

"Now I hoped you'd say that," she clucked. "Or we wouldn't be able to have any fun. What do you say to a good round of torture?"

He didn't bother to reply. Instead, he stared daggers into her. She could do what she wanted. He'd been to Hell. He'd been tortured by Lucifer. What did she think she could do to him that was worse than that? Nope, he wasn't going to tell her anything.

That's when two other demons stepped into the room with knives in their eager hands. They'd been waiting for this. They eyed the young Winchester with interest.

"Is this the part where we skin the flesh from his bones?" one of them asked. Sam recognized him as one of the soldiers from the bus. He was big and well-muscled with a hard face. Abaddon had selected well.

"Not just yet, Barbas. I have other plans for this one."

She reached a delicate hand to Sam's face and grabbed him hard under the jaw, leaning down and pulling his face so close to hers that he could feel their breath mingling in the air. Sam tried to pull away, but her grip was like a freaking vice.

"I'm going to break you, Sam. I'm going to make you scream until there's nothing left. By the time I'm through with you, you won't even know who you are. And then I'm going to kill you." She squeezed his jaw even harder and he knew it was going to bruise, but he didn't give her what she wanted. He didn't scream. That seemed to infuriate her even more.

"When I'm this close I can smell the demon blood in you," she snarled in disgust. "It doesn't take much. You see, Lucifer is a picky guy, Sam. Not just any vessel was going to make the cut. That's why he sent Azazel to improve his selected few."

"Improve?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Oh yes," the demon said. "What do you think the demon blood was for, Sam?" She finally released his sore face and circled him amusedly with a click of her blood red heels.

"To control me. To give me demon powers and make me use them to break the final seal." His head was throbbing now. Abaddon smiled down at him as if she could see his pain.

"In part, but not entirely," she explained nonchalantly. "The demon blood made you better, Sam. It coursed through your veins and it made you stronger, faster, bigger, smarter, and better looking. Like a super soldier, Sammy. The perfect soldier. The perfect king to rule Hell as Lucifer's vessel."

"So…I'm Captain America?" the trembling hunter asked in disbelief. This couldn't be right, his mind supplied. If this was true, then he was finding out his entire life was a lie. Again! First he finds out his father is a hunter, then he finds out he has demon blood, then he finds out demons have been monitoring and directing his entire life (even introducing him to Jess), and then he finds out he's Lucifer's vessel. And now this? How many times was he going to have to go through this?

"In a manner of speaking," came Abaddon's delighted reply.

"I don't believe you. Demons lie."

Suddenly, her cold hand snapped out, backhanding him hard against his already bruising cheek.

"Do you really think you're 6'4", Sam? With that adorable baby face, thick wavy hair, and smart enough to get a full ride scholarship to an elite school? A little too perfect, don't you think? But you don't have to believe me," she said icily. "Because Lucifer is back in his cage and I am running the show now. And you know what? I don't think you deserve the gift you were given." She grabbed him by the hair now and yanked his head back to make sure he was looking at her. "So I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take it out – every last bit of it. I want to see what's really under there. And I bet that the _real _Sam Winchester is small and weak and _pathetic. _That's the Sam I want to play with."

Sam felt a shiver run through his stiff body and his breath hitched. He suddenly knew with cold certainty that she was telling the truth. Her earlier words ran through his mind: "You won't even know who you are." And to think, ever since he found out about the demon blood there is nothing he wanted more than to be rid of it. Now, though, he was afraid. What if the real him couldn't measure up? The first half of his life he'd been on the small side. The _very _small side. Was he going to go back to that? And how much had the demon blood increased his intelligence? For all he knew, he was really as dumb as a box of rocks. And without his intelligence how was he going to escape?

Even if he did escape…what would Dean think of him? Would he laugh at him? Hate him? Miss the brother he'd known his whole life? Or would he still feel the same about him?

Would he still be the same person on the inside or did the demon blood change his personality too?

Yet…if this was all a lie anyway, he didn't want to live it anymore. Sam was tired of feeling impure. Tired of feeling like a freak. Who cared if the real him was three feet tall, had a face full of zits, and couldn't tell the front of a book from the back? At least he'd be human. At least he'd know the truth.

"Then do it," he told her in the steadiest voice he could muster. That would piss her off! And by the look on her face it was working!

Then suddenly without warning she was dragging him to his feet and she threw him hard against the wall. Her powerful hand lurched out with forced purpose and the demon buried her long nails deep into his neck until it bled. She began chanting something in a language he'd never heard before, and suddenly Sam was powerless to move against her, mesmerized by the rhythmic drone of her voice that no longer sounded quite human.

Sam felt his heart pound wildly against his chest faster and faster, the blood sprinting through his veins like an Olympic athlete. But it wasn't his blood; it was the demon blood. He could tell by the way it stung. Then it was coming out of him, gushing out his nose and dribbling down his face, his neck, and Abaddon's tight gripped fingers.

It didn't take long. Abaddon was right. There wasn't much. But it freaking hurt! When it finally stopped, Sam had to fight for air. His body suddenly felt so foreign to him – so fragile. That's when the pain started, racing through his bones and threatening to cripple him. Abaddon's grip around his neck was the only thing holding him upright, and seeing this, she released him (of course). Poor Sam tumbled to the ground with a painful thud, face contorted in unmentionable agony. He curled up into a protective little ball, wishing his hands were free so he could wrap his arms around himself. Every bone in his body was on fire.

Even the concept of thinking was too much for Sam anymore through the searing pain. He barely registered the moment his body began to convulse, but even through the haze in his mind he could make out the sick sound of amused laughter. He didn't care; he was dying. He was sure of it!

But he didn't die. Slowly the pain ebbed away, slowly the world came back into focus, and slowly his body relaxed until he laid still and cold once more. Abaddon just continued to laugh ruthlessly.

Sam tried to sit up, but he wasn't quite up to it yet. Giving up quickly on that endeavor, he settled for turning his head up again so that he could glare at the bitch, but his view was obstructed by his long hair falling haphazardly into his face.

Except that wasn't his hair! His hair was definitely brown. Brown, chestnut, chocolate, brunette, whatever, but it definitely (definitely!) was not red. But it was! It was so red. So terribly carrot top red that he couldn't stop staring at it with eyes so wide they stung.

"This is better than I ever imagined," Abaddon gloated when she tired of her laughter. "I couldn't have dreamed this up if I tried. I mean, I figured there'd be a few minor changes, but this! Azazel's blood certainly had its work cut out for it with you, Sam."

"I don't understand…"Sam mumbled fearfully. What was she beaming about? Did he have two heads or something?

"Oh, but you will. It's time you saw for yourself. Stand him up."

The two demons in military attire hauled Sam forcefully to his feet and dragged him unceremoniously to the waiting Knight of Hell. His shoes, suddenly being much too large, slid easily off his feet as he was tugged forward, followed by his pants which had already been a bit baggy on him. He glanced down to where they were pooled at his feet, feeling exposed in just his boxers and not liking that one bit, and then looked up to meet Abaddon's gaze. That's when it really struck him – the reason for her sudden glee. He had to look _up _to meet her gaze!

Now, Sam had been pretty damn small for a pretty good portion of his life. Nonetheless, his father had trained him well and he knew how to handle himself in a fight even as "the little guy." It certainly didn't mean he liked being short, though. On the contrary, it brought a lot of unnecessary attention and teasing his way. He hated being called "shrimp," "midget," "short stack," "runt," or any of the other taunts people threw his way. And then there had been all of Dad's friends referring to him as "the small one." Then, a miracle happened. When Sam was 17 he hit a growth spurt that changed his life. And yeah, then he had to go through "stretch," "moose," "sasquatch," and the like. But it was a serious improvement! Actually, it was pretty awesome.

As he looked up at Abaddon now though, and realized that even if she wasn't wearing heels this woman would still have him by a good couple of inches, he knew without a doubt that that growth spurt had never truly been his. It had never been natural. And with sinking realization it hit him that he wasn't a teenager anymore. Wasn't a "growing boy." He was 30 years old, and this was _it_.

"No…" he couldn't stop the word from escaping. This should have been what he wanted. Even before he found out about the demon blood, Sam had felt tainted. Dirty. Less. When he did find out about it, all he wanted was for it to be gone. Now that it finally was, it was like a dark stain on his soul had been scrubbed clean. It was freeing, amazing… but terrifying. Part of him just wanted to go back to the way things had been.

"Oh yes," Abaddon said. "Pathetic – just as I predicted, but even more so. And you haven't even seen the rest of it yet."

The demons led him out of the room, close on Abaddon's trail as she set off on her mission. Every so often they shoved him harshly so that he was more stumbling after the knight than walking. Hunter instincts kicking in, he made a quick check of his surroundings. He was definitely in some sort of old factory. By the state it was in it appeared to have been shut down quite some time ago. He could make out the dusty outline of assembly lines in what appeared to be a toy manufacturing plant. The place was littered with demons too many to count, loitering in groups and whispering among themselves. They bore holes through Sam with disdainful black eyes as Abaddon marched him along.

Eventually they came to a restroom, men or women's – who knew (the sign too worn to tell). Abaddon led him inside, still flanked by Barbas and G.I. Demon. It was a large bathroom as beaten and decrepit as the rest of his surroundings. Many of the stall doors hung loose and partially unhinged while others were missing altogether. Vulgar graffiti covered the walls, cobwebs and filth caked everything in thick disgusting layers, and the smell was rancid. At the back of the room hanging on the far wall rested a wide, very large full length mirror.

Sam's eyes caught Abaddon's eager reflection at once before automatically scanning the mirror for his own. He couldn't find it at first, eyes roaming the mirror's surface in an odd game of Where's Waldo. It took a minute for Sam to reconcile the short, red-haired man in the center with himself.

He approached the mirror slowly, and Abaddon let him go. Suddenly he was face to face with an image of himself (apparently) that he wouldn't have recognized in a million years.

The man looking back at him was considerably smaller than the 6'4"Sam was used to. Perhaps 5'6", 5'7" if he was being generous. He'd lost a lot of muscle mass in the transformation, but still had decent definition despite how utterly thin he was. His hair was the same style and length, but not nearly as thick or wavy. In fact, at that length it was almost a bit stringy and limp; not to mention how red it was. Or even orange perhaps.

Then there was his complexion, gone from soft tan to fair skinned and covered head to foot in clusters of tiny freckles. He was the very definition of ginger. His grandmother on his father's side had been a redhead. And Dean had a few freckles here and there; and his hair had gone through an auburn-reddish stage for a few years as a child which he'd later grown out of. But this was just freaking ridiculous!

His face was different too. As he inspected his features he noted that they were basically the same, but altered just enough to make the overall picture nearly unrecognizable. His face was thinner, smaller, and softer. His cheekbones slightly less defined and his chin weaker. His jaw was softer and rounder, less rugged. His lips were thinner, his nose basically the same shape but a smidgen longer. His eyes were almost the exact same as they'd always been – soulful hazel, utterly tragic and searching like a lost puppy, and shaped with the slightest exoticism. Yet, where they had once been framed by a curtain of dark, thick lashes that would draw anyone into their depths, they now rested beneath a set of lashes colored so lightly they were barely visible, and surrounded by a littering of pale brown freckles.

Sam stood in stunned silence for a long moment just taking it all in. He was almost certain Abaddon was saying something to him, but it was merely a low mumble to him in his state of complete shock. He couldn't help but tilt his head to the side and back, making absolutely certain the reflection followed his movements.

So this was what had been under the demon blood all along? His whole person was just one big lie? For 30 years he'd been looking in the mirror and not once – not once! – had he seen himself. Until now. And now he didn't know who he was or who he was supposed to be or if he should be happy or sad or just freaking furious.

Slowly, he rested his head against the mirror and slid down its length until he crumpled pathetically at its base. He'd figure it out later, but for now he was mourning his loss because as much as he hated the demon blood it had given him his identity for 30 years and now it was just gone. Just like that he had to learn to redefine himself, and while he was in the clutches of one of the most ruthless demons imaginable.

He was vaguely aware of Abaddon and her soldiers leaving the bathroom. Distantly he heard the sound of the lock clicking on the door. But he didn't really care. Glad for the privacy at last, he let the tears fall.


End file.
